


mirage

by ivorygates, synecdochic



Series: alternate abydos [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Abydos, Alternate Universe, Imported
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:56:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorygates/pseuds/ivorygates, https://archiveofourown.org/users/synecdochic/pseuds/synecdochic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan'yel, Prince of the House of Kasuf and Voice of the Gods, is called upon to evaluate his heart-twin's choice.</p><p>(The one where they were all born on Abydos.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	mirage

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/162630.html) 2007-10-18.)
> 
> ivorygates and I should not be allowed to stay up past our bedtimes.
> 
> Improv fic that came out of an AU she and I were writing, with Daniel of the Eurydiceverse meeting Dani of her AU Waterloo'verse. Both Daniel and Dani are children of Abydos wholly and entirely -- a year is long enough to write deeply in the heart, when that year is spent in the presence of that which is familiar on a bone-deep level -- and the longer they spend time together, the more they both become Abydan once more. Which necessitated ivorygates and I figuring out what this entails -- where it parallels our own world's cultural development, and where it diverges, etc.
> 
> And, well. Egypt would be ours, ten thousand years of peace.
> 
> ivorygates (9:22:53 PM): (on Abydos they would probably have shared her husband, assuming a universe in which they'd both existed)  
> synecdochic (9:23:09 PM): (Yes. Her husband likely would have been Daniel's brother-not-of-blood.)  
> synecdochic (9:23:34 PM): (Daniel would not have permitted her to marry a man whom he could not at least respect, if not love.)  
> ivorygates (9:24:00 PM): (and she would never have considered looking at a man her Dan'yel had not approved first)  
> synecdochic (9:24:06 PM): exactly!  
> ivorygates (9:24:27 PM): (Abydan relationships are complex)  
> synecdochic (9:24:34 PM): (very)  
> ivorygates (9:24:51 PM): (entirely designed to leave the women with a protector available if at all possible)  
> synecdochic (9:25:03 PM): (exactly!)  
> synecdochic (9:25:15 PM): husband, father, brother, brother-not-of-blood  
> ivorygates (9:25:28 PM): (someone!)  
> ivorygates (9:26:00 PM): (someone who can either father their children or find someone for them who can, pretty much...)  
> synecdochic (9:26:07 PM): exactly!  
> ivorygates (9:26:17 PM): (because there *has* to be a new generation!)  
> ivorygates (9:27:45 PM): (I contemplate a universe in which they're *all* Abydan, and there's no Stargate program at all, and Dana're decides that the man she must have is this wholly-unprepossessing man-of-the mines, Oneer...)  
> ivorygates (9:28:11 PM): (violent, you know. uncivilized.)  
> ivorygates (9:29:28 PM): (well she won't, of course, if Dan'yel doesn't approve, but won't he just go *look*...)  
> synecdochic (9:31:02 PM): and when Dan'yel goes to meet this man -- and how *has* Dana're made his acquaintance? she's been sneaking out *again*, what *will* he do with her -- there is something there, something beneath the dust and the dirt and the naquadah splinters. some ... compelling fascination.  
> ivorygates (9:33:25 PM): A quality in him that Dan'yel might almost term 'greatness' - and how is it that he is here among the lowest-of-the-low, in the deepest, hottest, place in the pit-mine?  
> synecdochic (9:34:41 PM): And Dan'yel stretches out a hand and says, "Come forth." And he takes Oneer and has him bathed and garbed in clean clothing, and sits him down on the other side of the table in Dan'yel's own tent, the one he shares with Skaara, and says: Tell me of who you are.

At first Oneer is hesitant and suspicious - there is much anger in him. But Dan'yel is a prince of the House of Kasuf, and his will is not to be lightly set aside. Oneer's story is much as any man's. A good man with a good wife and a good son. And the son taken in tribute by Ra in an evil year (a hard thing, but a burden which many bear: Dan'yel himself has a sister and a brother who have gone with the God, though long before he was born.) Yet Oneer's wife could not bear it, and went forth into the desert when the storm wind blew, thrusting herself through the gates before Oneer could stop her. And this Oneer could not bear.

The rest is an old story. Drink, and the mines.

And Dan'yel nods, for it is a story he well knows, as he has served as hands and voice to carry the stories of many such men. He says, "My sister has set her eye upon you; I must know, have you done aught to bring her shame?"

Oneer is shocked and more than a bit afeared, for -- to look upon a daughter of the House of Kasuf? He had not, truly, known he transgressed; Dan'yel knows this as well and as clearly as he knows his own true-name. He sees Oneer search his mind and his heart, to learn when and where his gaze might have fallen upon her naked face, and Dan'yel sees he does not know. "There was a boy ... in the mines," Oneer says at last, thinking hard. "He came with his brother. He had much your look." He grimaces. "No boy. But at the end of the day there is _qat_ , and wine, and men do not see as clearly as they should. I swear to you, her brother kept her close."

Dan'yel sighs -- more than a bit fondly; he has always known his twin to be strong of heart and strong of will, and no man will ever master her, not unless he be a God set foot upon this earth; even Dan'yel can only steer her, and even then not reliably. "Women," he says, with a rueful shake of the head, and Oneer is startled at the invitation in the tone; he laughs, and Dan'yel likes the sound of it. It is pleasing, the more so for the fact that it sounds rarer than the purest veins of Godstone. "I will speak with her. For all that it will be as though trying to coax the sun to rise in the south. Tell me, then; have you sworn to look upon the face of no woman again, save the memory of your wife?" It is not common -- they are all too aware of the need for children -- but sometimes, there is grief, and the grief cannot be set aside.

Oneer shakes his head slightly, but his look is puzzled.

Dan'yel studies Oneer a little more closely; he can almost (he thinks) begin to see the shadow of what Dana're sees in him. The edges of it, at least. "Very well," he says. "Have you any belongings left to your name that you have care for? I will send a servant to fetch them, if so."

Oneer laughs harshly. "The clothes on my back - and I think you have burned them."

"Not burned," Dan'yel corrects; "they are being laundered. Although I believe they will be fit only for rags; the dirt may be all that holds the thread of their weaving. We will find you others; Sha're-our-eldersister is no hand at weaving, but Dana're has a touch with cloth. What skills have you, in the meantime? I am certain we will have need of you in the mines, and yet there is time and time still before you must return, while I may learn of you and discover if you would be fit husband for she-who-is-my-twin." Dan'yel smiles. "Assuming you would have no objection."

He sees Oneer's eyes go wide with shock; that is good. For him to hold in his heart too lightly the thought of entering the royal house would bespeak a thoughtlessness of spirit which would augur ill in his future dealings with Dan'yel's twin.

If there are to be such dealings. Dan'yel is as yet undecided. It is well that Oneer did not realize to what he was being summoned; it is not, after all, such a common thing as to be free for him to suspect.

"With the clay," Oneer says at last, as if calling long-buried memories to mind. "Once it was that I had some skill in the making of pots. Work for women and the old, I know, but once ... I had meant to grow old." He smiles again, a rueful smile. Truly, the world so rarely goes as men and women wish it. He shrugs. "I have such skills as any man may have - to bring food to the table, to keep jackals and wolves from the flocks. No skills such as the house of Kasuf should prize."

Dan'yel tips his head to the side; the faintest of smiles graces his lips. "It is not well done for a man who has just knocked the dust of the mines from his heels to say what will and should be valued by the house of Kasuf, for am I myself not a speaker-of-tales, clan's memory, voice of the gods, and yet cherished whole and entire by he-who-is-my-father? Fear not; there is no shame in honest work, whatever form that work may be called to take by the silence of a man's heart. Your modesty does you well, though." 

He rises from the cushions upon which he is sitting; it is a fluid, graceful movement, and he knows the torch-light flickers against his wrists and throat. "Have you thirst?" he inquires, heading to the small-table against the wall, where a pitcher of cool well-water is sweating in the heat. Strange, that he might serve himself; stranger still that he might serve Oneer. But clearly Dan'yel is a strange man, and there are many who call him god-touched.

"I meant no offense, lord," Oneer says quickly. 

Dan'yel can feel Oneer's eyes upon his throat as if Oneer had placed his hand there, and knows (for he knows all of Abydos, from the Place-of-Offerings to the Place-of-Judgment to the deepest levels of the mines) that if Oneer has not forsaken women, the company of men is a glad thing with him, to be sought even if were it not all that is to be found in the deepest pit. Yet he is certain that Oneer's heart has not been given in that quarter either: did Oneer possess a brother-not-of-blood, he would not have withheld this knowing from Dan'yel in all that he has told. 

"There is none taken," he answers softly. He goes to the pitcher. Will it be one cup or two? 

"I have thirst," Oneer says, and the words mean both what they say, and more. Dan'yel pours two cups of water and returns to the table.

"Know this," Dan'yel says, drawing the mantle of self-assurance around his shoulders -- he has never wanted for aught, not in all the years of his reckoning, and that lends him confidence and shield. "I do not seek worship, nor obeisance. While we are within these walls, I am no more than Dan'yel, son of Kasuf, brother of Dana're, a man who may have been granted the knowing of knowings but does not believe it lends him reflected glory. And you are Oneer, a man whom the gods have given hardship beyond measure, but who still lifts his head to meet each day." He crosses next to Oneer at the table, bends with graceful neck and hands to set the cup at Oneer's hand. The torch-light shines upon his hair. "There is much to be admired in this. Drink deep and be refreshed." 

Oneer lifts the cup. His eyes are still on Dan'yel's face; there is confusion there, and discomfort, but it is the discomfort of one who sees within his reach something he has wanted and might still wish to close his hand around, were he not afraid that grasping at it would leave it brittle and broken. "Life," he says, "and health" -- the traditional response to the traditional benediction. 

Dan'yel is gratified to see that Oneer's movements are calm and clear; he is no deep-miner by birth and breeding, for all that his circumstances have led him there. He drains the cup in a single draught; he must thirst beyond the telling. "There is little of admiration in what I have been brought to," Oneer says, when he sets the cup back down. "But the world goes as the gods will, and not as you or I would have it."

"Hey'a," Dan'yel agrees, philosophically. "And yet, I say that there is strength in you, and a strength that cannot be denied. I would not yet live, had I been in your sandals."

"No man truly knows what he may do until the hour of the doing is upon him," Oneer answers. "I say to you - Dan'yel - that should such times befall you - the Gods keep them far from you and from your house - you would find the strength to lift up your head. It is in my mind that the knowing-of-knowings is perhaps a weight as heavy as a basket of Godstone, and one that cannot be set aside at the end of a day." 

"To set the two beside each other is to weigh meat against fire," Dan'yel says, though in his heart he agrees. It is a pleasant wonder to him to find Oneer so quick of mind and so insightful of spirit. Truly such a man requires a wife to replace in some measure what he has lost. If not Dana're, then another. He gets up again, but only to bring the jug to the table. It is not well-done to deny to a guest that which would ease him. He pushes the jug toward Oneer. "Drink." 

"Yet meat and fire each have a part in the other," Oneer says, reaching for the jug. "Without meat, fire has little point. Without fire, meat is tough and tasteless. Ai! My mind had more skill for this talk once, but that was long ago. You speak hidden wisdom, and I answer in commonplaces." Oneer refills his cup - once, twice, thrice - and Dan'yel claps his hands to summon a servant to bring tea and fruit. 

"Common truths are truths still," Dan'yel answers, when the servant has departed.

Oneer snorts. "And still common. I was never honeyed of words and learned in the mysteries of the gods, but still and all, there were days when I could speak of things other than the weight of Godstone upon my back and the stink of men's fear in my nostrils." 

"I find your words pleasing," Dan'yel says. It is truth, and truth entire; Oneer's wit is pleasing to one who is full of words and knowing, and yet it is comfort, like warming the soles of one's feet at the hearth-fire when the desert sand has given up its heat to the thin night air. "Do not think you must be that which you are not. I have walked beside many-upon-many, and in some the fire burns brightly and in others it is but slumbering coals. You burn brightly, my friend, if I may so name you."

Oneer's eyes are a hint wild, just at the edges, but he swallows his water and meets Dan'yel's eyes without fear. "You are free with the measure of your friendship, if you are willing to spend it on the likes of me."

"I am friend to many men," Dan'yel counters, "and in all men there is value. Do you gainsay that which I see in you?"

"If I am not free to do that, then I am not free," Oneer counters swiftly. "Yet who am I, a simple man, to argue with one so learned?" 

Almost, in that moment, Dan'yel's temper flies free. It would not be an act well-done: at times he envies Dana're her freedom (who save Dan'yel sees what the women do, and his sister only governs her tongue and her temper with those whom the intemperance of one of the house of Kasuf could harm.) But then he looks again, and sees the glint of gentle mockery in Oneer's gaze. "Indeed, it is so," he answers. "I am so greatly learned that you must heed my word in all things. I shall tell you that the sun rises in the north, that there are four moons in the sky, that the desert is a place of vast fields of yaphetta, and you must believe all." 

Oneer throws back his head and laughs aloud, startled and joyous. "Tell me all those things, Dan'yel, and I vow to you that I will believe them all. Only do not put into my ears the word that the mastadge is as mild as a newborn kid, for then I must doubt all your tellings."

And Dan'yel laughs as well, for in Oneer there is a swift and subtle wit, one that is well-hidden like the flame at the heart of a fire that has been banked for the evening. It has been sleeping long, he thinks, and long again, but he sees the tongues of its quickening starting to unfurl, and he is resolved (once again) that though he be the one to hold the knowing-of-knowings, Dana're is the one who sees beyond seeings, to have spied this flame though it were yet quiescent. They are a matched set, he and his heart-twin; she supports his weaknesses and allows him to shore up hers. 

"I would not so dare," he says, "although for me, they are yet so, if I but approach with sweetbreads and soothing words. The heart of a beast may be soothed by such, while the heart of a man is more difficult to win. Or less difficult; it depends on the man entire." He puts just a little bit of wickedness in his voice; he lets the sleeves of his robe fall back as he reaches to pour himself another cup of water, sweet and cool. He can see Oneer's eyes following the motion.

"Are you then accustomed to winning the hearts of men?" Oneer counters. "For I have heard no tale that Dan'yel of the House of Kasuf is light with his affections; indeed, I would think you new-risen from the hands of the gods, for all that I have heard no man nor woman claim to have held your heart in return."

It is a jest, yes, but there is steel behind it; Dan'yel hears the words Oneer is not speaking as clearly as though they were sung to the dawn. Oneer is saying that he will not be a pleasure-love, not without care and friendship behind it; Dan'yel thinks it is no new insistence, that Oneer has held this view still and through all his hardships. Another reason he is no ordinary man.

Dan'yel reaches his hand across the table and -- daring, but what is he if not daring? -- rests the tips of his fingers on the inside of Oneer's wrist. Oneer's breath catches in his throat. "I have left no man heart-sick behind me," Dan'yel says, "no -- nor woman neither. I have seen too much pain to wish to be the cause of it in another. You may pitch your tent on that rock, and it will not shift in the wind."

"You are bold." Oneer has the look of a man who would say more, but he also has the look of a man who has had the air forced from his lungs, and his eyes have grown as dark as the sky before the storm, even in the brightness of the torchlight. Dan'yel feels the tendons beneath his fingertips stand out with sudden sharpness, then Oneer's fingers are upon his own wrist, dry and strong and callused with seasons of work in the pit. But his touch is gentle as he traces his fingertips over the smooth skin. 

The shadow upon the tent wall heralds the return of the servant. Dan'yel has little doubt of who will have come in the servant's place (hastily-veiled) and he is right, for if all of Nagada does not already know that Dan'yel of the House of Kasuf speaks with a miner from the pits within the walls of his own tent, they will by the time of the evening meal. 

He is right, of course. He would recognize his sister were she wrapped in a carpet, much less merely (and for once properly) veiled. 

He does not release Oneer, nor does Oneer release him. 

She does not linger, nor gawk even so much as a servant of the house would, simply setting out pitcher and cups and dishes - she has brought bread and oil as well as fruit, though Dan'yel did not call for them - from the tray upon her hip. Nor does she look more upon Oneer's face than upon Dan'yel's, nor upon his overmuch. When she has done all that a servant should do in his tent, she goes forth again. 

"Has your sister seen all she wished to see?" Oneer asks when they are alone again. 

Dan'yel smiles. "Never that. But as much as it is good for her to see."

Oneer raises his chin; he does not reach for bread nor fruit, though Dan'yel knows he must be gnawed by the animal that is hunger; the men of the deep-mines are not held in esteem, nor do they receive their fair share of the harvest. It is a thing which Dan'yel has been working to correct. "She is strong of will," Oneer says. 

"As befits her heritage," Dan'yel says, still smiling. His mother is nothing more than a fond memory, but the women's mysteries still hold her in high esteem, and Dan'yel alone, mouth and hands of the gods, may walk among the women and hear their tales, though he knows better than to think he has heard them all and entire. "We are not a kin-line that holds with seeking to avoid the lightning lest one snatch back a hand that has been burned." 

He traces his fingers over the inside of Oneer's wrist, along the fastly-flickering pulse, the lines of muscle and bone. It is a pleasing wrist, and bespeaks well of what might lie beyond it. 

"And yet in daring, you often snatch back treasure beyond that which can be known," Oneer counters. "Or you may find that your hand has been burned to nothing but cinders."

"Well and still," Dan'yel agrees. "It is the daring that makes spice of life." 

He draws back his hand with one last touch -- nay, caress; he is bold enough, and has found enough of interest -- and reaches for fruit, bread, oil. He sets out portions on Oneer's plate for him; it is the intimacy of true-guest, highest honor. "Eat your fill," Dan'yel invites. "And may the bounty of the earth our mother sustain you forevermore."

"May she sustain us all, through the mercy of the Gods," Oneer answers. 

Though he eats with hunger, his manners are not such as would shame the table of Dan'yel's father. Dan'yel sets his mind to recalling what he may of Oneer's kin-lines as he sips cold tea and nibbles delicately upon a handful of dates. It is some while before the information comes to mind, for it is that which is the province of the women: he does not doubt that Sha're could call it into her throat far more quickly. 

The family is sound, but the direct line is scant. Oneer was the only child of his father's only wife; his mother died when he was a child, and, his father's concubine not looking upon him with charity (nor he upon her, nor - in that season - upon his father), Oneer went to the Deep Desert, to his grandmother, until he was of an age for the mines. By that time his father had gone to walk with the Gods, and by the concubine's malice Oneer had not been summoned to perform the rites. A lesser soul, learning of this, would take her children from her and turn her out to starve: Oneer took her under his care and saw his brothers and sister settled. Only the sister of them all yet lives, nor is Oneer welcome within her house. It is an insignificant matter, set against what Dan'yel knows of his own eyes. 

When the edge of his hunger has been dulled, Oneer pours a scant splash of water into the empty bowl to moisten his fingers before drying his hand meticulously upon the cloth. "We have talked, we have drunk together, we have eaten." He regards Dan'yel with a look that is lightly challenging. "What more shall we do together?"

Dan'yel ducks his head, peering upwards through his lashes. It is a look he knows to be one of his most alluring, calling to mind (as it were) the man-child he was never quite; he was called in the silence of his heart to the service of the gods and of his people at an age far before his rites of manhood, and always knew that he would walk the path of the seer, from days and days before. 

"Allow me," he murmurs, and rises again from his cushion. Oneer watches him with wary eye; he crosses the tent and fetches a basin, a pitcher. The charge between them as he kneels at Oneer's feet is tantamount to the charge the air gathers when lightning is about to strike, and twice as elemental. He pours water in the basin; the sound of its splash is pleasing in the sudden silence. Oneer does not draw his ankle away as Dan'yel reaches for it; the shape of it is hot and heavy beneath Dan'yel's hands. 

A simple thing, to offer this comfort: clean skin, the reassurance of human touch, the pleasure of contact and ritual. Dan'yel cups a hand to hold the water in his grasp and lets it rain down over the arch of Oneer's ankle. He follows it with his fingers, stroking lightly, and sees the hairs of Oneer's skin rise to mark his passage. 

There are servants to perform this custom, and Oneer will have been washed and washed thoroughly before being presented to Dan'yel, fresh-scrubbed as though a layer of his skin was removed with all the dirt and grime. It is no matter. Dan'yel has a different purpose for this action; he wishes to remind Oneer that despite the mantles of power and prestige he may wear from time to time, he is naught but a man beneath them, and a man who does not shy away from that which others might find demeaning. Oneer is his guest, in his tent and his seemings; indeed, Dan'yel is beginning to suspect that Oneer is such a man as to be worthy of the attention with which Dana're has gifted him. 

But the telling of that tale remains to be spoken still. For now, Dan'yel is on his knees and _touching_ ; the warmth of Oneer's skin beneath his palms is pleasing, and he thinks Oneer may find his touch to be pleasing in equal measure.

He is reaching for Oneer's other ankle when Oneer reaches out to stop him. The grasp upon his wrist is not brutal - Dan'yel could free himself with ease, and his muscles are not toughened by season upon season in the mines - but it is firm (a touch which holds more of certainty than does Oneer's heart in this moment, of this Dan'yel is assured.) 

"It would be well that you stop," Oneer says. His voice is soft and harsh, flavored with regret and longing. 

Dan'yel arches the fingers of the hand Oneer holds so that he can scrape his nails lightly along the inside Oneer's wrist. "How should it be well, when to go on will be pleasing to us both?" he answers. 

He straightens a little, leans forward a little. He smells the heat of Oneer's skin, the fragrance of the bath-spices. Oneer releases his wrist, lifts his hand to Dan'yel's cheek. Dan'yel turns his face toward Oneer's touch; there is no hesitancy in it. Others have not been able to set aside the knowing of Dan'yel's public self as he is before the people in his bright robes standing beside his father's chair. Oneer has put that aside as Dan'yel puts aside such formal clothing. 

Dan'yel lowers his head and returns to his task, and this time Oneer's hand is warm on the back of his neck.

His touch is more than comfort now; it is fraught with purpose, each motion careful and deliberate. "Pleasing," he murmurs, more sound than sense, "and pleasing still -- this line -- this curve --" His fingers stroke the length of Oneer's ankle, shaping its lines and boundaries with the lightest of feathered caresses. "I sense it has been long for you, my friend," he says, "since you have been touched with deliberate hands. Let me bring you what comfort I may."

He has looked into Oneer's heart, and found no evil there; he has touched Oneer's shadow, and known the shape of it to be pleasing. Oneer is a man who understands kin-ties, who knows and knows-beyond-knowing the bonds that form them all. It is well and truly done for Dan'yel to offer him comfort, for to wear the face of the gods and to hear the true-speech of men's souls that lie behind is burden and blessing at once. 

Oneer's hand is heavy against his nape; he does not pressure Dan'yel forward, nor does he fear to touch at all. "Too long," Oneer says. In his voice Dan'yel can hear the measure of a man's pain, a man's duty and his casting-upon-the-winds. It leads him to the knowledge of what will be well and pleasing, to them both and to the honor of the gods.

Oneer's skin is rough beneath his robes; Dan'yel draws his hands up Oneer's legs, pushing the robes aside before his touch like the parting of the sands when a wind is upon them. "Sh'h'h," he says, as Oneer moves as though to protest, as though he cannot believe something long-sought may well be near to having. He dips his head to taste of Oneer's skin, pressing lips against Oneer's thigh; that skin tastes of clean fresh water.

Oneer groans as though the sound is torn from his lips. "You must --" he says, and then falls silent, for there are no words to shape that which is within his heart.

"Sh'h'h," Dan'yel repeats. "You do not take; I offer." He looks up, then, and sees the pain written across Oneer's face; Oneer will not believe that he is truly-and-firmly here in body, not just spirit alone. 

Dan'yel is well-acquainted with that disbelief; there will be time and time still to address it. For now, Oneer's body is calling out to him, across even the thin boundaries of robes that are inadequate to hide the straining of his sex. Dan'yel pushes those robes aside, and Oneer's hand tangles roughly in his hair as he lowers his mouth to complete his offering.

It is a sweet time, a wordless time, full of shadows and firelight and the soft and disbelieving sounds Oneer makes. There is wonder in those noises, and sadness, and a deep and abiding longing. Dan'yel strokes Oneer's thighs with his hands -- _yes, I am here, friend-of-my-heart-whom-I-have-just-found; lay down your cares and let them abide a while in my keeping before you must take them back up again and let them bow your shoulders down_. 

Perhaps Oneer can hear the words that are not words, for when he finds his release, it is untainted by that which has burdened him for so long. His taste, too, is pleasing to Dan'yel, for all that he is unaccustomed to such measures; for all that he is familiar with all the pleasures that two bodies may find, he does not often choose to proffer this particular grace. 

And perhaps Oneer can sense that as well, for his hands are warm against Dan'yel's face as he gazes upon Dan'yel, soft and unfocused. "I --" he says, through lips swollen from where he has set his teeth into them to keep from crying out, and Dan'yel rests his fingers across those lips to keep him from speaking further.

"You are pleasing to me," Dan'yel says, soft and gentle. "Your pleasure is as my own. Be comforted."

Oneer's eyes are heavy with weariness; the pit is no gentle mistress, and a moment's ease does more to recall to the body understanding of its long hardship than the hardship itself. Were he not the man he is (Dan'yel already knows that to properly know Oneer's quality is not the work of a day, or even of a handful of days; there is much to know) he would even now be rousing himself to turn his attention to Dan'yel's pleasure in turn, as if Dan'yel's favor must be repaid as immediately and in kind as if this had been a transaction of the marketplace. Instead, he does Dan'yel the courtesy (too rarely tendered) of hearing his words; he rests his head upon Dan'yel's shoulder as his eyes close, and Dan'yel lowers him to comfortable rest upon the cushions, his head pillowed upon Dan'yel's thigh. 

He smoothes Oneer's robes so that they lie smooth and seemly over the hard-muscled thighs, and combs his fingers gently through Oneer's hair (short in the fashion of the deep mines, washed soft in the House of Kasuf.) Oneer does not rouse. 

One who will listen and one who will hear; one who will not turn away from Dan'yel-god-touched and refuse to see Dan'yel-the-man. He went forth seeking his sister's desire, but it seems he has found his own as well.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Eye of Heru](https://archiveofourown.org/works/358394) by [greenbirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbirds/pseuds/greenbirds)




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